After the usual artless flying experience via Delta, we managed all the tedious tasks of border crossing: displaying papers, offering plausible accounts of one's plans, changing money, praying that bags have arrived intact, and trying to figure out how to escape the arid, sanitary womb of the airport and move--hopefully rapidly--back to the messiness of unregulated life. And Paddington is currently a mess: construction, inaccuate signage, but thank god incredibly helpful employees. Daringly, we opted to take the bus from Paddington to Hampstead. And it was a dream! Often empty and when populated, filled with charming infant-tyrants wheeled around by solicitous nannies. Oh, 46, bus of miracles!
After dumping luggage and showering at Hampstead, we quickly returned to the city for an inaudible architectural talk and walk around Trafalgar Square. The two most salient things I learned were that: 1) Manhattan Island is made of granite which allows the skyscrapers to soar, while the West End is built on swamp, demanding a certain modesty in height lest modesty be forced upon them when they sink; 2) St. Martin's in the Fields has an excellent refectory (possibly a place to lunch with Peter). The walk ended with Bill Fontana's sound and video installation at Somerset House. He set up a series of "choreographic mix of sound elements" that played the sounds of the Thames (water, bells, ship engines) in individual brick rooms in the basement of Somerset House. Often videos of images associated with the river (buoys, water flows) were played in these rooms. The synchronic order of the installation was dictated by the places on the river where the sounds were recorded.
It was hypnotic, especially the images and sounds in the "Dead House." (Once I figure out Disa's computer, I will upload my eerie photos--[figured out: see above].) And most revelatory was the end of the tour, when we climbed stair after stair out of the dungeon and emerged, blinking like Lazarus, onto the expansive and welcoming plaza at the middle of Somerset House, with its waters that seem designed to absolve all sins confessed when roaming through the darkness of the lower depths.
Back in Hampstead, we ate at the Holly Bush, a much-admired gastropub. I now completely appreciate a card I saw yesterday, in which a man standing in front of such an establishment, says to his friends, "I need to save money. Let's eat at a restaurant." It was a bit pricy, but quite delicious. Traditional food beautifully interpreted, which seems to be the raison d'etre of this genre of restaurants. Beef, oyster and Guiness pie in an honest to goodness pastry crust, and a superb fish pie with mussels, haddock and scallops (?). The placement of the pub is superb, on the corner of a narrow street, just down the street from a friendly English tabby cat.
Today, Disa and family left for Stratford, so Don and I were on our own--always a mistake. First, Don slept in until 10:30 while I rose at 5 am, so we're now on completely different schedules. We ate breakfast (lunch) at a tea room (vegie breakfast, fruit cup with yoghurt), and then caught the 24 bus to Camden Town. Stables Market was the highlight--and given our slothfulness the only light--of the day. I tried on a black wool coat with mandarin sleeves and a cape-like shape. Stunning and a perfect fit but 120 pounds! Perhaps too much for my blood. I did manage to bargain--however clumsily--and get 2 10 pound rings for 16 pounds total. Don tried on a stunning cloth coat lined with fleece and decorated extravagantly with gold rings and studs and laces and zippers. It's a kind of male corset effect. I loved it but he balked at the price (around $300?). We ate two good lunches: I had a lamb tagine with couscous for 4 pounds, and Don had a combo of vegie Indian dishes. We watched a kind of horrible pigeon squabble for someone's leftovers: 15 birds clawing at each other on a table for some scraps. One even ate the napkin: "red in tooth and claw."
The market was mostly staffed with recent-y English immigrants: Asians and lots of Poles. Even the lovely young Gothic Lolita girl at Sei-sei, with her Manic Panic green-hied dreds spoke with a strong Polish accent. There was also a young Turkish woman who stashed her Turkish handbook on English grammar under the shelf when we approached.
Thanks to an ill-timed nap by me, we missed the "Twelfth Night" performance and instead went for a late dinner with the White Bear pub. Another gastro-experience with virtually no sides provided with the entrees, thus a bit pricy. But my ceviche with rocket salad was tasty and I had a big glass of wine which I pray I won't pay for later. Don has his first English Guiness experience and was astonished at the noticable difference between the two Guinesses drunk on opposite sides of the pond. Although we were enticed to the pub by an online review that touted the on-site black cat, we saw no kitty and were quite miffed. We got a second best experience on the way out when a spooked ginger cat crossed our paths and agreed to pose for photos, though no petting was allowed.
Then we walked and walked and walked, and despite my yearning for a size 6 body to wear all the fashions in the windows of Hampstead High Street, as soon as I saw the Creperie, I lined up. After consulting with the others in line about their favorite flavours, I listened carefully to the suggestion of a man who said that his wife's favorite was milk chocolate and hazelnuts and cream. It turned out to be a solid option.
All in all, though, London is decidedly a less friendly city than it was 30 years ago. It's true that my mother isn't here, the woman who could lift a limpid smile from Rasputin. Though I've hoped to mimic some of her charms, Londoners now seem disengaged from each other. There's little of the wit and fun that lightened commercial exchanges. The young people, especially, seem unattached, humorless, too self-involved or cell-involved to engage with others. The cell phones are ubiquitous, and people seem unembarrassed about speaking on them on busses, in the pubs, everywhere. It's a decidedly multicultural city, with apparently easy tolerance of a varieties of difference, but the absence of a lightly friendly vibe suggests that the tolerance is strategic rather than philosophical. Everyone's guardedly waiting to see how it all plays out.
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